


Adventures in Suburbia

by auroreanrave



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle Couple, Blood and Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, House of M - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Content, Witness Protection, m3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: Matt and Mohinder and Molly and their new life in the New York suburbs.





	Adventures in Suburbia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So, I've been working on this for a few weeks when I've been able to fit it in around work and college commitments, and it means a lot to me. I've loved Matt/Mohinder for nearly ten years now, and so I really wanted to write something for them, plus the adorable Molly Walker, because I am here for all of the M3/House of M feelings.
> 
> Fair warning: there's brief threatening/harassment in the fic, and towards the end, there's a confrontation scene that becomes semi-explicit violence-wise in the context of a tiny action sequence. If that's not your thing, that's absolutely fine, just skip the section that begins 'The high school looks eerie in the evenings' and you can jump back into the next section and work out what's occurred without it stopping the story progression too much. I promise that the other 98% of the fic is pure fluffy feelings etcetera.
> 
> Really hope you guys enjoy this! Love you all.

The move to the quiet, leafy neighbourhood of Alton, New York state, goes off without a hitch. They only need a small moving van, bought and paid for by The Company in one of their final acts before the dissolution.

The house itself was paid for by Company accounts too - and Matt has grown to feel not as guilty and angry about that as he started off being. The house is modestly beautiful: a detached two storey home in the New England style, with three en-suite bedrooms, a spacious kitchen with breakfast nook, an open-plan living room and dining room, a two-car garage tucked into the side of the house, and wide spacious lawns and a backyard contained with thick, white wooden fences.

It's more beautiful than anything Matt could ever have afforded on his cop's salary, even with Janice's salary. Molly had crowed and crowded around the laptop screen when Mohinder had shown them the house in question, and had fallen in love with the bright green lawns and how she'd able to sit on a stool at the breakfast nook and look outside while she ate her cereal in the mornings. After that, it was pretty much cinched.

Their new lives in Alton have an unreal, too-shiny gloss to them - Matt and Mohinder, the interracial gay happily married couple, in love, and with their adopted daughter. Matthew, a former police officer looking for a career change, Mohinder, a science teacher, Molly, an eleven-year-old student in the local middle school. Matt doesn't know how they'll last, these shiny, well-laminated lies, but for Molly's sake, and for Mohinder's too, he can pretend with the best of them.

They unpack quickly, moving cardboard boxes into the wide space of the living room, while Molly runs upstairs and declares the room facing west and with a little window seat, hers. Matt and Mohinder have already discussed the arrangements - Matt will take the master bedroom, while Mohinder will take the guest room, just as comfortably furnished as everything else in the house.

Soon after they're done, the moving van rolling away, and Matt looks up from opening up a box marked 'Bathroom' in Mohinder's immaculate handwriting, to see a beaming, dark-skinned couple making their way up the neatly manicured lawn towards the open front door. His hand twitches by his handgun, but he relaxes.

"Hi!" the woman of the couple says. Her hair is tucked underneath a bright blue _gele_ , and her smile is wide and genuine. "I'm Mia Walsh, and this is my husband Jerome."

Matt shakes hands with Jerome and Mia, making the small talk he's been practising on the car ride over. Nice to meet you, just moved in, just me, my husband, and our daughter.

"That's wonderful. Our son Trey is the same age. Hopefully he and Molly will get along. Oh, and Jerome made you guys something."

Jerome proudly hands over a ceramic dish covered in tin foil, and when Matt opens up the corner of foil, lifting it to sniff, he gets a wave of delicious steam, scented with rosemary and tarragon.

"That smells incredible," Matt says honestly, and Mia laughs a little at Jerome's pleased blush that matches the red plaid of his shirt.

"It's just a casserole. I, uh, I didn't know what you guys liked, so I went with chicken, but..."

"It smells delicious," Matt assures him, "and we'll love it. Thank you."

Mia hooks her arm through Jerome's, beaming with pride at her husband. "He's an amazing cook. Oh! You guys have to come to the barbecue on Saturday! It's Jenna and Cristina's anniversary and I know they'd want me to invite you. They're the Fernandezs, down the end there." Mia points and Matt can spot a peach-coloured cousin to his own house.

"We'll definitely try and make it," Matt says easily, because they're new to the neighbourhood, and even if they can't make it, or have no intention of doing so, they need to assimilate. To make good impressions. To belong. Even if they're only here for a few months.

Once Jerome and Mia have said their goodbyes, Matt makes his way to the kitchen, to deposit the casserole on the counter, and finds Mohinder sat there first, next to the sink. His feet are bare and he looks tired and worn out, a little sleepy.

Mohinder smiles at Matt and waggles his smartphone at him. "I found the number for a local pizza delivery place in the welcome pack. Just ordered dinner. Molly will be happy."

Matt indicates the casserole and peels back another layer of tin foil. "Our neighbours did the actual 'bring over a casserole' thing."

Mohinder hops off the counter and leans in close to Matt to smell the casserole. His head of curls smell like engine oil and warmth and Matt should really stop focusing on their smell before Mohinder catches him.

"That does smell wonderful," Mohinder says appreciatively. He gnaws at his lip.

"Come on, it'll do alright tomorrow. The fridge is working, right?" Matt asks. Mohinder blinks, then looks to the fridge in the corner.

"Alright," Matt says with a fond, exasperated smile, "I'll get the fridge sorted, you clear up a little. I'm officially sanctioning breaking in the couch and the TV with pizza and Pixar movies."

"You're a benevolent tyrant, Matthew," Mohinder smiles, and Matt feels his heart swell despite himself.

That night, after enough pizza to feed a football team has been consumed, and both "The Incredibles" and "Coco" have been watched, it's time for bed. It's Friday tomorrow, which means no school for Molly ("we may as well wait for Monday" Matt had argued to a spluttering Mohinder), but she needs the normality and structure that they've had in tentative place for the past few months.

The house is locked up and secure, the detritus of moving left out until tomorrow. Molly has begun assembling her room to her exacting specifications, but agrees to save most of it until the next day. Both Matt and Mohinder tuck her in.

"Thank you for being so understanding about this," Mohinder says, "it must be a huge adjustment."

"It's okay," Molly says, sounding infinitely wiser and older than her Cookie Monster pajamas would otherwise suggest. "It's not your fault. Families move all the time."

"It'll all feel normal soon, kiddo," Matt says, ruffling her hair a little. Molly wriggles away, pouting but laughing, and then it's a matter of forehead kisses and leaving her Moana nightlight on, the door closed gently behind her.

Matt sits on the edge of his bed, Mohinder stood in front of him, moments later.

"So. Big first day went alright."

Mohinder nods and smiles, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "She's wonderful. Strongest of us all."

"That's damn right." Matt pauses, then: "Thanks. To you as well. I know this isn't exactly what you wanted either, but... thanks."

"Me? I've done nothing, you - you gave your job and a chance of reuniting with Janice, all to help out Molly and me. Thank you, Matthew." Mohinder rests a hand on Matt's shoulder, squeezes it, leaves it for another moment. "Now, I'm going to call it a night. Goodnight."

Matt nods. "Night, Mohinder."

Once he's gone, Matt tidies up his room a little. He didn't bring much with him, so it doesn't take long to assemble his knick-knacks, his clothes, the handful of books he brought with him. He keeps the private stuff, the obvious pre-Alton stuff in a lockbox in the drawer beneath his bed.

Afterwards, he takes a shower in his bathroom, and jerks off to the thoughts of warm brown skin, of a sweet white-toothed smile, and of Mohinder's voice calling him 'Matthew'. He's in too deep for safety, but there's nothing he can do about it. He lets the excellent water pressure of the shower pound away at the frustration and restlessness beneath his skin, until all that's left is a bone-deep drowsiness.

Matt crawls beneath the soft Egyptian cotton sheets, infinitely softer than his own store-brand sheets back in his old apartment, and lets unconsciousness lap at his feet in waves until he's swallowed whole into the blissful darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

Friday rises, early and bright. Mohinder's room faces east, so he stirs awake at six in the morning. He'll be a little bit glad when it feels more like autumn, and later winter, and the sun doesn't rise so abrasively early. Apparently Alton also has a nice, long, unbroken string of snow-filled winters, and Mohinder never lived anywhere long enough to experience a proper, northern hemisphere winter.

He turns off the alarm, pads downstairs and into the kitchen, and is brewing a second cup of chai in the French press that doubles as Matt's coffee maker, when the man himself enters the room. Matt's sleepy and soft, wearing a faded 'MoMA' tee shirt from when Mohinder and Molly dragged him there a couple of months ago.

"Good morning," Mohinder says, smiling. Matt nods back, but says nothing. This is not new - Matt is not a morning person, and needs at least one strong cup of coffee before his brain disengages from screensaver mode.

Mohinder shoos Matt to the breakfast nook, and prepares his coffee the way Matt like it (black, one sugar), taking the opportunity to look out of the window at the rolling, gently sloping hills as he cleans out his tea and readies it for coffee. He catches Matt's reflection in the glass and spends several moments contemplating the curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, and the full mouth he's spent more than a sensible amount of time wondering about, before Matt's coffee is ready.

He slides over the mug - bright pink with Princess Bubblegum's face on it (Molly's gift to Matt for the Fourth of July - he won't drink coffee out of anything else now) - and Matt takes a long, grateful sip. "Thank you. You're my favourite."

"I bet you say that to all the people you cohabit with," Mohinder jokes.

Matt shrugs. "Yeah, but Molly's always my favourite girl. You? Easily my favourite guy."

It's said with levity, and it shouldn't make all of the blood in Mohinder's body rush southwards, but it does. He covers it - badly, Mohinder thinks - by taking the seat across from Matt with his own cooling mug of tea.

They discuss the plans for today - Matt will lead on clearing out boxes in the morning while Mohinder takes Molly to get officially registered at the Alton Middle School. They're only a couple of weeks into the new fall semester, so hopefully she won't stick out like a sore thumb too much. Then it's school supplies and getting everyone registered at the doctor's office in town and groceries (they have some eggs and milk and coffee and tea and juice and other bits and pieces picked up from a roadside station on their way here, and that's all, baring the neighbours' casserole) and then it's more moving stuff.

Mohinder wants to stop by the high school too - he's starting there as one of the chemistry and biology teachers, and he wants to get a feel for the staff and the buildings - but Matt is currently without job, so he has more time to making the kitchen welcoming, and divvying up everyone's preferred bathroom supplies. Mohinder has a flash of an image - Matt in jeans and a toolbelt and flannel, bending over to pick something up from the kitchen, so that Mohinder can study the generous curve of his ass to hugely pleasant effect - and then his attempts to divert blood away is for nought.

Molly emerges about ten minutes later, allowing Mohinder the excuse to rustle up pancakes for her, the sounds of the little radio in the kitchen filling the house up with chatter and music, the local goings-on of Alton, New York, and giving Mohinder the time to distract his brain from all manner of inappropriate and inconvenient thoughts.

The cool metal of his wedding band slides against his skin and he twists it absent-mindedly. He's not quite used to it yet - used to any of it really. This pretense, this aching facade of normality. Except they're not normal. Matt is a former cop who can read pretty much anyone's mind, Molly is a human GPS capable of tracking down any living soul, and Mohinder is the kind of geneticist that film studios write monster horror movies about.

The worst part is, a deep part of him aches for it to be true. He and Matt and Molly, a perfect family, secure and safe in this little haven of suburbia. It's a far cry from the cities he and Matt grew up in, and it's wonderful because of it. The chances of Sylar finding them here is remote.

He plops the pancakes down on a plate for her, and a second plate for Matt; Molly likes chocolate chips, Matt blueberry. "I'll be glad when we can get more food in the house," Mohinder says.

"Me too," Matt agrees, spearing a pancake and popping half of it into his mouth. "But regardless, these pancakes are amazing."

Even with blueberry juice at the corners of his mouth, and the corners of his eyes still crusted over with sleep, Matt looks like the best thing in the world to Mohinder. So, he smiles, and says, "Thank you, Matthew."

 

* * *

 

Saturday rolls around alarmingly quickly, and before Matt knows it, Mohinder is pressing a freshly ironed shirt into his hands. "We're expected at the Fernandezs'."

"Fine," Matt grouches. He'd been napping on the couch, Sports Center running in the background and cosy in a warm patch of afternoon sunlight. He'd forgotten a little about the barbecue, but Mia's invitation comes into crystal-clear focus in his mind.

"You're the one who accepted their invitation," says Mohinder, who already looks like an off-duty runway model in his pink shirt that shows off his pecs and the olive green chino shorts that skim a few inches above his knees.

"Is Molly ready?" Matt asks.

"I was waiting for you. Figured a united front if she's more inclined to stay at home and watch TV," Mohinder says, pointedly. Matt rises from the couch, accepting the shirt and blowing a raspberry at Mohinder.

He changes into the shirt - a sky blue number that does make him look good - and a clean pair of his own navy blue shorts at Mohinder's insistence ("at least we match, Matthew").

Molly follows suit, surprisingly enthusiastically, in a sunshine yellow dress they picked out a few months ago, with her hair in a simple French braid courtesy of Mohinder's nimble fingers. Matt coughs and moves downstairs to stop inappropriate thoughts about those fingers' potential in front of Molly and the man himself.

_Get it together, Parkman. This is all make believe._

The Fernandezs' home is indeed, upon inspection, all but identical to their new home, peach colouring notwithstanding. There's red and blue balloons strung across the front porch, and Molly leads Matt and Mohinder with her hands, to the backyard where about three dozen people are happily chatting away.

Mia is the first one to spot them and gambles over, smiling and resplendent in a pink summer dress. She bends down to Molly's level. "Hi! I don't think we met the other day but I'm your neighbour Mia."

"Hi," Molly chirps, tucking away behind Matt's leg, a little self-conscious.

Mia takes it in her stride. "I love your dress. Wish I'd worn yellow. How about I show you guys to the food and then just I'll introduce you to Cristina and Jenna." Mia shakes Molly's hand, and Molly smiles at this, the three of them watching as Mia disappears back, heading towards where Jerome is manning the buffet table.

The food is really good - Matt makes a point of complementing Jerome on the casserole, which was yesterday's lunch and so delicious everyone had third helpings; Jerome's ears tinge pink and he pushes an extra scoop of potato salad onto Matt's paper plate - and Matt catches snippets of conversation from the partygoers.

Molly soon finds herself pulled into a conversation with some of the neighbours' kids; Matt thinks he spots Trey amongst them, grinning around a miniature beef wellington. He desperately wants her to fit in - more than any of them, she deserves stability and safety and the chance to be a normal kid.

"She's sweet," a voice at Matt's shoulder says. He turns to find a petite, curvy woman in a floral pink hijab, smiling at him as she piles food onto her own plate. "She's a credit to you, really."

Matt beams. "Well I don't have much in that department to take credit for. My - my husband and I adopted Molly a few years ago. A lot of the harder stuff her biological parents had taken care of."

"Don't be so modest. She's a happy, healthy girl. Believe me, I have three of my own. I'm Muna." Matt and Muna shake hands, and look towards Molly, who is now chatting away eagerly with several of the children, including Trey and a young girl who Matt suspects is Muna's daughter, judging by the way Muna's eyes crinkle at the corners in affection at her.

"How long have you lived in Alton?" Matt asks.

"Five years. It was... difficult at first. I'm second-generation Saudi, but... even being a full-blooded American citizen, it was hard. But everyone here is lovely," Muna assures Matt.

"Good. My husband, Mohinder, he's from India and even though he's spent plenty of time over here... I don't want this move to impact on any of us negatively."

Muna grins at him. "He's a catch, Matt." Her eyes wander over to where Mohinder is stood in a group of people. He has a mimosa in hand and is gesticulating passionately about something - genetics, world politics, why strawberry Pop Tarts are the superior flavour (that had been a highlight of their New York living days).

"How did you know my name?" Matt asks, after a moment.

"I may have been introduced to Mohinder a little while ago when you first arrived. He wouldn't stop talking about you and looking at you with Molly. I put two and two together." Muna's smile only widens. "What are you planning on doing here? Mohinder mentioned you were re-evaluating your work options."

Matt smiles. "He's being tactful. I got shot back in New York apprehending a dangerous guy. I'm alright - some minor nerve damage - but it means that any chance I had of advancing or staying in the police force anywhere other than a desk went right out the window. I don't know, really."

"I think you should look at what really makes you happy. I would say helping people, but we've only just met." Muna scoops up her second plate and tilts her head in the direction of a tall, handsome man in a coral-coloured turban who can only be her husband by the way he brightens up at her attention. "I've gotta go feed that loveable lug. You three should come by for dinner soon."

"I'd be honoured. We all would." Matt says. Muna nudges his arm with her elbow gently, because she can't squeeze his arm with both hands occupied with full plates, and meanders over to her husband.

His own 'husband' joins about an hour or so later. The barbecue has entered the more relaxed stage, with summer jazz floating over the speakers coming out the sound system inside the house, and more bottles of chilled beer pulled from the fridge. Molly and her new friends are down the other end of the garden, playing games and laughing and drinking lemonade. Jerome had unveiled a cake to rapturous applause and Matt had taken a large wedge at Mia's insistence; the vanilla, lemon, and blueberry sponge is heavenly and when Matt compliments the cream cheese frosting, Jerome's smile threatens to outshine the sun.

"He is a wonderful chef," Mohinder says at Matt's elbow, digging into his own impressive piece of cake. "I must ask him for the recipe."

"Well now I know he's objectively good," Matt jokes, "if the culinary might of Mohinder Suresh is sourcing recipes from the man."

"I'm surprised you know the word 'culinary'," Mohinder jibes good-naturedly. Matt swipes at his shoulder and they jostle together, chatting a little.

That night, Matt tucks Molly into bed, happy and sleepy, a handful of social dates from her new friends to be added to the calendar in the kitchen and coordinated by Matt and Mohinder. He leaves her, cosy and warm, and pulls her door a little to, with the hall light still on.

"That went wonderfully," Mohinder says. He's midway between layers of clothing - in his skin tight boxer briefs and shirt unbuttoned to his navel, and Matt is finding the whole experience incredibly distracting from his position on his bed, Mohinder in the doorway again.

"She made friends and didn't eat her body weight in cake. Always a plus," Matt concurs. He fiddles with the buttons on his shirt but doesn't actually unbutton them.

"I think you have a stalwart admirer in Jerome," Mohinder says. "If he and Mia weren't blissfully in love, I'd have to keep an eye on him."

Matt blinks in confusion, but then lets it slide. "A man who can cook. He's a man after my own heart."

Mohinder pauses, and then nods. "Good to know. I was wondering if you thought we should do something tomorrow."

"Like church?"

Mohinder snorts. "Neither of us are religious, and I don't think is the kind of community that would ostracise us for non-attendance."

"Fair enough. If Molly wants to go, I'm happy to take her, by the way."

"Good to know. I was meaning... I don't know. Car trip to the park, a proper look around the town."

"We can always do it like tourists do. You know, the museum if it's open, the local places to eat."

"Exactly," Mohinder says, beaming, the tips of his ears a little pink. "Well. Goodnight, Matthew."

"You can call me Matt, you know. We are married," Matt says, aiming for joking, and coming out a little flat. Everytime he says it, he has to fight an increasingly blurry boundary. Their 'marriage' is a mirage of protection against Sylar and anyone else who wants to kill them and Molly, nothing more. Even if Matt daydreams about waking up with Mohinder in his arms, warm and safe and solid, that's all it can be. A dream.

"Alright, Matt," Mohinder smiles. He disappears down the hall into his own room.

When he's in bed, Matt wraps a hand around his cock and imagines the kinds of things he would do to Mohinder in a perfect world. He imagines every lewd act turned sweet by affection, and comes with a bitten-off cry.

Before he drifts off to sleep, he images that he hears the sound of Mohinder's voice whispering his own name, and then he's adrift.

 

* * *

 

 

The day burns warm for late September and bright, and Mohinder can't help laughing. He's been up since six, trying to get into the habit of a short morning yoga practice (he's a cliche, he knows, but it does help with the knots of stress he's liable to get in his upper back), and Matt's grand plan of hitting all of the local haunts and activities is heading further and further back with every half-hour he keeps sleeping.

Mohinder peeks his head around Matt's bedroom door and almost immediately shuts it. Matt is all but nude in his bed, boxers the only thing preserving his modesty, and Mohinder allows himself a second to drink in the generous flesh on display, the strength in the thighs and the broad acres of shoulders and the inviting swell of belly, before he closes it behind him.

The three of them finally make a move from the house just after eleven in the morning. Matt wears his sunglasses and sips from his coffee thermos while Mohinder drives and Molly picks the music.

They move deeper into Alton. They visit a local cafe-slash-diner-slash-local-mainstay for brunch. The owner of "The Cove" is a bouncy woman in her fifties named Kala, who chatters delightedly to Mohinder in Tamil ("I'm sorry, it's been years since I've had someone to talk to in it who wasn't on a Skype call!" she apologises to Matt) and nearly becomes giddy when Molly is able to respond to a couple of questions herself in the language, courtesy of her brief sojourn with Mohinder's mother.

They order plenty of food, and Kala delivers more on the house for them, and then she and her friend Jon sit down to talk about the town with them. The food is delicious - pancakes and waffles with syrup and berries, bacon done to crispy perfection for Matt, and even some mango lassi that Matt declares his love for - and the talk is somehow even better.

They discuss their lives, the town, every little thing that normal families do. Mohinder enjoys the stretch of the lies a little; he doesn't enjoy lying, and he's not the best at it, but he can appreciate the enhancement to a skillset, and a growing part of him aches for invisible scales to fall away, and for Matt and Mohinder and Molly to realise that this really is their life.

After that, they go for a walk and visit the town's museum, a building the size of a deli wedged between a hardware store and a Fifties-style diner. They poke at the weird and wonderful things, stuffed and mounted or hidden behind glass, and learn more about their little town. The ugly past in the Forties and Fifties, and the concerted efforts of Mayors Kagemura and Wilson to stop that from ever happening again. Mohinder bows his head at the newspaper clippings, faded with age, about the treatment of Japanese-Americans, of the small horrors that echoed down the years like a foul wind passing across valleys.

"Always remember that, Molly," says Mohinder, watching her look at the clippings. "People weren't always as enlightened as they are now. Some still aren't. But time changes everyone."

"And kindness always wins," Matt says, placing a hand on her shoulder, and then moving to Mohinder's too. It lingers for a long moment, and then Matt moves off to show Molly towards the tiny gift shop, leaving Mohinder behind with an impression of warmth and solid strength behind.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day runs down in a pattern of warmth and impossible familiarity. They get a little snack at a local cafe, and then explore the rest of Main Street, getting into the grooves of their new home, the well-worn paths that already seem familiar and comfortable.

Back at home, they settle down with preparations for the week ahead. School for Molly, the same for Mohinder but with a different context, and Matt's current role as domestic god and general unpacker. Matt wriggles his toes in his LA Rams socks as he watches the replays of the games, before letting Molly and Mohinder watch their guilty-pleasure medical drama.

Matt's sort of looking forward to a full fall and winter spent here. He lets himself fantasise a little as he sits on the couch. Banked fires in the fireplace, thick snow outside, the changing colours of the leaves. Helping Molly with any Christmas things she might need, because the idea of Mohinder remembering to wrap presents or write cards is a tiny bit laughable. Curling up with them to watch Christmas movies and decorating. He then loses time imagining putting up mistletoe across the doorways so that he could pull Mohinder, laughing and soft-eyed and sweet-mouthed, to him.

"Matt?" Mohinder asks him, and he realises that he's drooled off into a doze. The show is over, the TV switched off, and Matt realises from the sudden pop of a dream (pink clouds with Trey and the other neighbourhood kids on them) that Molly must be asleep in bed.

"Sorry. Musta drifted off there," Matt apologises, rising to his feet and scrubbing at the dried drool on his chin.

"Understandable. It's been a long day." Mohinder tidies up the lounge, still half-furnished, and Matt waits for him at the foot of the steps to turn the alarm on.

"To tomorrow," Mohinder says, in the hallway between their rooms, minutes later. Matt smiles at him and gets a flash of something sad and a bit lonely from behind Mohinder's glasses. His heart breaks a tiny bit. Mohinder should never feel that. Ever.

"Come here," Matt says, and envelops Mohinder in a hug. Mohinder freezes for a split second before reciprocating the hug. It feels impossibly good to have him this close - warm and firm and solid. He can smell the fancy shampoo Mohinder insists on and resists the urge to press his nose to the crown of his head so that he can breathe it in a bit.

"Thanks, Matt," Mohinder says, after a long moment, and they break away, still close. "I... I needed that. It's been an intense few weeks."

Matt refrains from saying 'I knew you did', and instead says, "Same here, buddy. Same here."

Mohinder smiles and says goodnight, and Matt continues his pattern of pathetic masturbation to the feel of Mohinder in his arms and the light in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few weeks unfold gently, carefully.

Mohinder finds his job at the high school easy enough. There's plenty to go around, and apparently he makes a pleasant change from their previous science teacher. He bakes stuff for the bake sales, and finds a warm, comfortable groove in marking report cards and essays and having two afternoons a week for students to drop in for office hours.

Molly inserts herself into her new circle of friends with equally pleasing ease. Mohinder comes home at least three times in as many weeks to find Molly and Trey and two local kids, Naia and Jacob, sat at the breakfast nook, doing their homework and listening to music. Matt makes sure to text him ahead of time, so that they can give the kids their space, and he and Matt hunker down in the living room with "Mythbusters".

Matt does his level best at cleaning the house up and unpacking everything. Within a week, everything more or less is unboxed and in the right rooms, even if Molly keeps switching the positions of everything in her room and leaving not-so-suitable hints about wanting to paint her room. Matt still scours the jobs ads in the local newspaper, and Googles commutes for potential jobs he finds further afield. Nothing too big, nothing too fancy, nothing that means Sylar on anyone else can track them down.

One night, when they're sitting down to fettucine alfredo, Mohinder mentions that the high school is looking for a part-time counselor.

"It could be right up your street, Matt," Mohinder says, scooping up pasta onto his plate. "Working with troubled youth, one-to-one, seeing them progress..."

"I think I need a butt-load of degrees for that, Mohinder," Matt replies, passing around the garlic bread, fresh from the oven. "But thanks for trying."

"You have a bachelor's in psychology, right? For being a cop?" Molly asks.

"I do, kiddo, but you need special training and stuff," Matt says.

Mohinder asks about the vacancy the next day, hints about Matt's prior experience, his degree, and within two days, Matt is offered the job starting the month after, with on-the-job training underneath the current counsellor.

"You didn't have to do that," Matt says quietly, the night he accepts the job.

"I wanted to," says Mohinder. "You... you'll love it. And it's good for you."

"Thank you," Matt says, and pulls Mohinder into a sideways hug on the shoulder, arm along the back of the couch. Mohinder lets his head rest in the crook of Matt's shoulder for a little while afterwards. Molly falls asleep on Matt's other side soon enough, and Mohinder allows himself the solid, comfortable warmth of leaning into Matt, and the giddy warmth that follows.

 

* * *

 

 

Matt really likes his job.

Being a counselor is tough, don't get him wrong, and there's plenty of times when he feels like tearing his hair out and crying a little.

But the rest of it is gold. He sits down with kids in every age group, and listens. Just listens. Most of them just want someone to actually sit and listen to them and understand what they're saying, to not disregard them or treat their problems as secondary. He gets that feeling.

There's a handful of them who have regular appointments set up - Fiona, with her red-rimmed eyes and faded jeans, the echo of bruises on her collarbones, Daniel, his temper boiling up and over him like a geyser, and Sasheer, struggling to reconcile whatever's going inside of herself.

He loves them all in the first week. He loves seeing them blossom and bloom, with nothing more than a kind word, or someone agreeing with them. He sees Fiona grow, helps her move into her friend's home with the supervision of Principal Chaudhri, and sees her smiles grow more and more, week on week.

He sees Daniel's number of citations drop as Matt and Mohinder's meditation sessions increase (Matt brings in the proposal, Mohinder brings a batch of approved studies and research). He sees Sasheer finally feel comfortable enough to come out to her family, and see her glow when they accept her and love her, the weight of a secret dissolving off her like rainwater in the sun.

By the third week, he's bouncing out of the door, and even when he makes notes at the dining table, fighting for space alongside Molly and Mohinder, he doesn't think he's ever been so happy.

The fact that most of it is a lie is truly horrific.

They host a barbecue at the next weekend, which is pleasantly warm for late October. Mohinder makes sure to get enough vegetarian and vegan options for everyone, while Matt stocks up on light beer and Molly goes to the local decorations outlet and buys enough summer-themed string lights and bunting to comfortably decorate a state fair.

It's a success, fortunately - Jerome brings another cake, toffee and lime, so good that Matt hides it in the fridge and makes Jerome come with him on periodic trips to make sure not a single smidge of icing melts. Mohinder works the barbecue, Matt mans the drinks station, and Molly is in charge of chairs, which she manages until she and Trey get distracted by hanging out with their friends in a little cluster by the back fence.

At one point, Matt leans back against the back fence, bottle of beer in hand, and watches as Mohinder starts telling another anecdote to the assembled party, making them laugh. As a fake husband, Mohinder is the best. Matt's heart breaks a little then. As much as he might want it, it's just illusory.

Mohinder looks over his shoulder at Matt and beams and Matt grins back. At least he can pretend with the best of them.

 

* * *

 

 

The threat comes one sleepy Saturday afternoon, when Mohinder is finishing up marking some papers in the kitchen. The last week of October has officially struck, with strong gales and moody grey skies and a severe drop in temperature. Molly is asleep on the couch, her completed homework in a neat fan on the coffee table, and Matt is out getting groceries.

It starts a lancing feeling in the back of his head, a sudden burst of a headache that has Mohinder's pen scrawling across the assignment of Nina Brown, one of his sophomore students. The sides of his vision go blurry and he chokes out a gasp before a voice bursts into his head. Sylar.

"I'm coming for you all."

As quickly as it comes, it disappears like mist across a moor, and Mohinder clutches his head. Moments later, he hears Molly's screams and rushes upstairs to find her.

Matt arrives ten minutes later, white-faced and washed-out, to find Mohinder and Molly sat on the couch. He immediately goes to them and cradles them in his arms. Mohinder should feel ridiculous, but all he cares about is protecting this little family of his.

"We're going to be fine," Matt says, his lips in the tangle of Mohinder's hair, his arms curving around Molly.

"Do we have to move again?" asks Molly. She looks even younger than her years, curled up in on herself.

"No," Mohinder says, even if it sounds hollow to his ears. "No, we'll think of something to do."

 

* * *

 

 

The next message comes on Halloween morning. Molly is still excited about going to the middle school Halloween dance that evening, a Friday, and Matt is just having his coffee when another mess when Sylar's voice slinks into his brain, venomous and vile.

"If you come and meet me tonight, in the high school, I'll leave your little tracker alone."

Mohinder and Molly turn to him when the voice fades, and Mohinder says, "You're not going to him, Matthew. I don't care what he says."

"I can... hell, if I can't take him on, then at least I can buy you enough time to make a getaway."

"No!" Molly cries out. Her eyes water and her lips wobble

"Honey," Matt says, crouching down so he can hug her, "my job is to keep you and Mohinder safe, alright? It might not even come to it, okay? I'll contact our Company buddies and see if they can help."

No one's near enough when Matt finishes his round of calls, abilities aside. Molly goes off to school, and Mohinder looks to Matt from across the breakfast nook. "If you think you're sacrificing yourself, then you're an idiot."

Matt smiles sadly. "If it gets you and Molly out of the way, then I'm your idiot."

He catches a glimpse of something in Mohinder's mind - my idiot, maybe - before Mohinder leans forward. "I think I have a plan. It'll take a lot of work and some miraculous timing, but it's better than nothing. We have a life here, and I'm not going to run."

His hand grabs Matt's, and Matt feels the too-warm flush of Mohinder's touch, as giddy as a schoolboy crush, even despite their circumstances. "I'm going to fight."

 

* * *

 

 

The high school is eerie in the evenings.

Matt feels the pull in his mind as he gets closer, using the bandolier of keys in his hand to make his way through the front entrance, past the reception area, and into the mass of corridors outside of the cafeteria.

He thinks of Mohinder and Molly at the dance, dancing and singing to the pop music they both like, drinking punch and having a wonderful time.

Matt's never felt so alone.

He follows the pull, until he recognises where it's leading him. The science labs in the west block of campus, where Mohinder works. He thinks of his life here, of every person standing between Sylar and himself, every person he's grown to love. He thinks of what's waiting in the science lab.

He opens the door.

Sylar is sat on one of the wooden benches, toying with a glass beaker, bouncing it from hand to hand.

"Hello, Matt," he says, a smirk creeping across his face.

"I'd say I'm happy to see you, but the only chance of that would be if I got to stamp the life out of your fucking face," says Matt, anger coursing through him.

"I can see that becoming such a family man hasn't dampened your temper," Sylar says, hopping off of the wooden desk. The glass beaker melts in his hands, aglow with incandescent heat.

"You leave 'em alone, alright?" Matt asks, moving around the cluster of desks slowly. Sylar turns to encircle him the other way, a predator stalking prey.

"Maybe," Sylar grins wolfishly, "but I sure could do with a little powered human GPS. And I'm sure I can find some fun uses for the good doctor."

Matt strikes out with his ability before he can think - Sylar blows backwards into the blackboard, cracking it in two.

"There we go," Sylar taunts, and Matt barely has time to bring up a mental shield and a thought of how the fuck did I just do that - as Sylar fires upon him with a mental battalion.

Matt dives for cover beneath a desk, glass exploding around him. His mind feels like it's on fire, a blazing bonfire with Sylar's fingers scrabbling for any purchase. Matt feels that same push again -

\- and the bench he's hiding behind explodes backwards and hits Sylar with all the force of a truck.

"Matthew!" Sylar roars, and Matt takes a deep breath, wishing for a moment he'd brought his gun, and then he's swept across the room to land heavily into the remains of a lab sink.

Sylar limps over to him, face torn to hell, blood dripping from his mouth. "More of a fight than I expected, Matthew. Plus... I never knew you had that little party trick too. I'll make sure to look after it."

Sylar draws his finger across the air, and Matt screams as a thin line of blood sprouts across his forehead, and all he can think of is NOW!

Giving Mohinder enough time to ram the syringe home into Sylar's neck.

Sylar roars, rearing back, arms flailing and smacking Mohinder across the room. He falls into a puddle of iodine but rolls to his feet, eyes narrowed.

"What - what did you - I didn't sense you!" Sylar roars.

"I thought of Mohinder and Molly at the dance. And you picked up on it. Thought I was too much of a dumb cop for imagination like that, huh?" Matt picks himself up out of the sink. He's bruised and battered to hell, but he's alive, and adrenaline is his ally now.

Sylar sinks to his knees. "What - what is - ?"

"Temporary neural blocker," Mohinder says, "strong enough to put someone into a coma. For you... it'll be long enough."

"Long enough for what?" Sylar asks, just as Matt's hands clasp across his head. He cups Sylar's cheeks in his hands, fingers curling across ears and the back of his head.

The telekinesis had been something somewhat unexpected, it's true - but Matt's own powers have been growing for some time. Enough that he and Mohinder's plan might just work.

Matt holds on tight to Sylar's head, pops off the lid in Sylar's mind, and begins to squeeze.

It's nothing, then everything all at once. Sylar screams when he realises what's happening, blood dripping from his nose and eyes and ears, tries to fight off Matt with increasing weakness.

Matt holds on. Molly can never know about this, but he's more than willing to do this to protect the people he loves.

He can feel the emotions racing through Sylar's mind, memories and sensations and thoughts popping like fireworks and fading into dying embers. He holds on, until Sylar no longer fights him, until he's grey and red-streaked, neural ichor leaking across his black shirt.

Matt lets him fall a moment later. Mohinder steps closer and wraps Matt into a hug he never knew he needed.

"It's done," Mohinder says, soothingly. "It's done."

"Not yet it's not," says Matt, and he sees the light of acknowledgment flicker into Mohinder's eyes.

Molly has a wonderful time at the Halloween dance, looked after by Muna and her family, wearing her new favourite Wonder Woman outfit. She is never aware of her parents loading the body of her boogeyman into a truck, is never aware of the way they dissolve the body, and contact the Company to let them know of what needs doing. She's never aware of the clean up that occurs, of the necessary evil committed to protect her, and the rest of the world.

She comes home to find Mohinder washing the dishes in the sink, sleeves rolled up, and Matt watching old Hammer horror movies, and both so happy to see her.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, Molly finally falls asleep after shaking off a sugar high, and Matt and Mohinder sit down next to one another on the couch.

"Thank you," Matt says, "for the plan. It was brilliant."

"I think most of that honour goes to you," Mohinder says. He rubs at a spot of blood on Matt's forearm absentmindedly. Matt's hand goes to Mohinder's. Holds it tenderly.

"I... I'm glad, in a really selfish way, that this all happened," says Matt. "That I got to have this with Molly. And with you."

Mohinder, carefully, thinks _I love you_ , right at Matt, and Matt blinks in surprise, a mental echo of You too? sounding out, and then it's too much, and Mohinder is climbing into Matt's lap so he can kiss him.

"I love you," Mohinder murmurs reverentially, because he needs to say it out loud after months of keeping it closed off and hidden.

And it's finally like everything falling into place. Mohinder straddles Matt's lap and lets himself be held, Matt's huge hands cradling his hips and holding him in place as Matt grinds his erection into the cloth-clad curve of Mohinder's rear. It's a wonderful, infuriating amount of friction, and Mohinder's hit with a blissed-out vision: the same position, the same chair, but both of them naked, Mohinder sliding down with an ache to take Matt's leaking cock inside of himself.

It's such a rush of an image that Mohinder twitches, hips juttering forward, precum cooling in his underwear, and Matt's reaching inside, murmuring, "let me, I've got you, I've got you, I love you so much" and stroking Mohinder, one, twice, three times, before he comes all over Matt's shirt in an explosion of stars behind his eyelids.

They cuddle for a little while, comfortable and warm, and then Matt scoops Mohinder up into his arms, and Mohinder is laughing into the crook of Matt's neck, because it's almost too much and not enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Matt wakes up the next morning in his bed, Mohinder curled around him in a manner not dissimilar to an octopus.

He remembers everything of the previous evening with bright clarity. Good and bad.

"Morning," Matt says, pressing a kiss to Mohinder's brow. Mohinder snuffles a little into the warm skin of Matt's chest, and then traces a wet trail with his tongue to Matt's nipple, a grin tugging at his lips, and then they're trying to be quiet so Molly doesn't decide to investigate.

When they're done, sticky and sore, and fresh, Matt asks, "So now what?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean... we built a life here. And I don't know about you, but... I don't want to give it up. All of this. I've never been so happy."

Mohinder pauses, then beams at him. "Then, we'll let them know. No refusals."

That Saturday morning, Matt and Mohinder explain that the boogeyman is gone, forever, and Molly dances around the kitchen, and Mohinder and Matt join her, and it's so, so happy that Matt's heart feels like it's going to overflow onto the ground beneath his feet.

 

* * *

 

 

They decide to meet Claire and Angela at The Cove; Mohinder's already had to scrub blood from the floors of his lab, he doesn't anything sullying their home.

They take Molly, and Claire immediately snatches down upon her with glee, and scoops Molly away for a series of milkshakes and serious Girl Talk with Kala.

"We've done as you advised," Angela says, fingers interlinked and hovering above the table, as if she's afraid of being infected by the surface. "His body, or rather the remains, have been... dispersed. Your lab, Doctor Suresh, has been restored and repaired. We had the schematics from when we first placed you here."

"Good," Mohinder says. His hand touches Matt's. If Angela has any reaction to it, she doesn't show it. "Matthew and I were discussing. We want to stay here in Alton."

"Why?" asks Angela. "The threat has been neutralised. You're welcome to return to your lives. New York, Los Angeles. I'm sure we can find Molly an ideal family."

"We're her family," Matt hisses, and Mohinder covers his forearm with his hand. _Calm down_ , he thinks at Matt, and Matt visibly drains of immediate tension.

"We have settled down here, Mrs Petrelli," Mohinder says, "and I would... I would hate to remove Molly here from this... this place we've grown to call home."

"Home?" Angela's eyebrows quirk up.

"Home," Matt confirms. He squeezes Mohinder's hand, and Mohinder smiles.

"Well," Angela considers, "the house is bought and paid for already. You'd be paying for everything off your own backs. No financial support, no luxuries you can't pay for yourselves."

"We've got plenty," Matt says. Mohinder knows exactly what he means. Here they have a life overflowing with blessings, friends and neighbours who have welcomed them into their lives, jobs that give them meaning, and yes, their own recent awakening.

Their lives are full of love. Mohinder can't sacrifice that.

"Very well," Angela says, finally. "You're both officially retired then. I'll make sure Molly is removed too. I might... if there's ever a final emergency, then I may come calling, gentlemen, but only in a major crisis. As for you two, I'll ensure it's as if you, the house, the town, anything, had nothing to do with us."

Mohinder nods. He can accept this caveat. Matt can too.

"Alright then," Angela says. A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. "I can understand family. Now, is there something in this backwater that isn't covered entirely in transfats?"

Matt barks out a laugh and Mohinder feels warm like the sparks off fireworks bloom through his veins.

 

* * *

 

 

They decide, finally, to bring up over dinner a few days later.

It's finally cold enough that Mohinder has started wearing scarves, meaning Matt can hook him in for quick kisses, and that fancy hot chocolate has become a nightly staple in the household. Molly is looking forward to Christmas already, is making paper snowflakes for her room, and assembling gift lists for all her friends.

There might even be snow in the next week or so. Mohinder refuses to admit that he is exaggeratedly excited, but Matt knows better. Matt knows him so much better now.

Matt makes them wait until Molly has finished filling them in on school - her friends, her classes, hanging out at Trey's after school - before he broaches the subject over dessert.

"So," Matt says carefully, "we have something we'd like to discuss with you, Mols."

"Okay," Molly says, her eyes narrowing a little. She places her spoon back into her bowl of butter pecan ice cream.

"It's nothing... bad," Mohinder chimes in. "It's just... it's something we all have to decide."

"So, Mohinder and I... we've been... our relationship has changed."

"I know," Molly says, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "I saw you guys kissing by the dryer last week. It's gross, you're both so old."

Matt grins. "Anyway... seeing as our original reason for coming here has been removed, we were wondering how you felt about... maybe staying here. Permanently."

Molly pauses, her reclaimed spoon halfway to her mouth. "You mean... be like a regular family? No more... running around? No more scary stuff?"

Mohinder smiles reassuringly. "No more scary stuff. Just... normal stuff. Which can be scary sometimes, but not that kind of scary."

Matt sits back and lets her process this. They have a life here - an unexpected one, perhaps, but it's beautiful and wonderful and better than Matt could have imagined. Mohinder teaches students science and Matt sees them and peeks into their minds and helps them work through their pains and their problems. Molly has friends and sleeps well and the dark circles under all their eyes have faded. They've been accepted and loved and welcomed and Matt has so much warmth in his heart he feels like it might just burn a hole through his chest.

Molly blinks back a couple of tears. "You promise? A real normal family?"

"Molly, of course. We love you. You're our daughter."

Molly breaks out into a smile despite her unshed tears - or maybe because of them. "I really wanna stay."

Mohinder smiles, his fingers entwining with Matt's, like they've always been there. "Then I guess we're staying."

Molly crosses the table, abandoning her ice cream, and throws herself into their arms. They hug their daughter and hug each other, and Matt gets a little mushy too. Mohinder's eyes are welling with tears.

"Can we get a dog?" Molly asks, and Matt laughs.

"Maybe," he says. "But we'll talk about that later, alright? I'm too emotional right now. I'll say yes to anything."

"Anything?" Mohinder asks pointedly, and nudges his wedding ring against Matt's.

Matt's heart stops for a second, and then he nods. "Yep."

The last piece of the universe slides into place with a satisfying click.

Molly somehow seems to understand in that moment, because she starts chattering about being a bridesmaid or a maid of honour, and having flowers in her hair and Jerome can make the cake and fancy invites, and all Matt can think of is how they'll need real, proper rings now, and their proper surnames or some combination, for a fresh, proper start, and he thinks of Mohinder in a suit saying those words and meaning them, and having this, all this, forever.

"Forever," Molly murmurs into Matt's shoulder, body buzzing with excitement and happiness. Matt realises he's murmured the last few words himself.

"Forever," Mohinder repeats softly, his smile wide and beautiful and kind like everything about him. Matt's gonna spend the rest of his life wondering quite how he got so lucky.

Forever, Matt mouths back to Mohinder, and he means it with all his heart.


End file.
